John Stevens' Courtship. Gates Susa Young
Ellie, we shall give you the credit of asking more questions in a minute than even President Young could answer in a day. Say, boys, where is Henry Boyle?"
"Henry Boyle, did you say, Henry Boyle?" and Tom Allen, who had thus repeated the question, began to laugh, and as he laughed he fairly tumbled off his chair in his efforts to control his merriment. The others smiled and some even laughed aloud to see fat Tom laugh, for his merriment was always as contagious as a clown's.
"Do tell us what is the matter with Henry Boyle?" snapped Diantha, at last, worn out by his long continued, mysterious laughter.
"Oh, dear, I forget all about it, this war talk drove it all out of my head. But it is too ridiculous for anything," and he went off into another peal of laughter and exhausted himself, before they could calm him down to tell his story.
"You see, early this morning, far too early, it could not have been more than half an hour after sunrise, I was just taking my last beauty sleep, when a little boy rapped at my door; and when I succeeded in tearing myself from the arms of Morpheus sufficiently to find out what he wanted, he said Brother Boyle wanted to see me. I got myself over to Henry's and on entering the room," here another burst of laughter rendered Tom speechless for a moment, "there lay Henry on his bed, his legs stretched out and covered with his hard shrunken buckskin pants. I don't know where he got those pants, but they were not half tanned, and yesterday after that fall in the lake with them, fringes and all, he slept in them, for he said he could not get them off; and he had to let Charlie Rose drive the folks down in the wagon, while he coaxed another family to let him travel down in the bottom of their wagon, for he couldn't bend his knees. He got on to his bed someway, and there he lies. He wanted me to help him out of his scrape, for he says he can not afford to lose his precious pants; they cost him too much."
"What did you tell him to do?" asked Ellen.
"Oh, I ordered him to live on fresh air and cold water for three days, so his legs would shrink, and then left him to time and fate."
"I am ashamed of you, Tom Allen, for treating anybody so, especially one who is a comparative stranger to these mountains and our customs."
"Oh, Dian, if you are going to lecture me, I shall have to have another of Aunt Clara's dough-nuts."
"Come, my dears," said Aunt Clara, "sing me a hymn. Here is Harvey with his concertina, and he will help you. Sing 'O, ye mountains high'," and then, gradually quieting down, the young people joined in that thrilling hymnal of Mormon independence. Strange people they were, with strange notions of life and destiny.
"Well, I am going home," announced Diantha, at last, and she arose at once to get her hat.
John Stevens took up his own hat quietly at her words, and she was pleased that he did so, for she wanted to ask him more about the coming trouble, and she knew that he would say nothing of importance in that crowd.
"You asked me to stay all night with you, Dian, do you want me to come home with you now?" queried Ellen Tyler.
Half annoyed that Ellen had thus rendered it impossible for her to speak alone with John, Dian was yet too courteous to let her friend know of her feelings. As soon as Ellen started out Tom Allen snatched up his hat, and so Dian had to accept the double interruption of her anticipated confidential talk.
There was no such a thing as quiet or sensible talk with Tom Allen and Ellie along; but just before they reached her gate, Dian managed to ask John quietly to go down to Henry Boyle and release him from the effects of Tom Allen's cruel fun.
John parted with them all, and after a brief visit with Henry Boyle, wended his way to President Young's office, where he was soon deep in council with his leaders and the associated friends of the Nauvoo Legion.
The middle of August found John Stevens enlisted as one of a small, trusty band of Utah mountaineers under Colonel Robert T. Burton, with faces set to the east, where they were soon out of sight and sound of civilization, riding toward the coming troops.
VII
VAN ARDEN ENTERS THE VALLEY
In the early morning of the sixth of September, 1857, a solitary horseman was slowly making his way down Echo Canyon, thoughtfully observing the features of the narrow and circuitous route of the everlasting hills as he rode. The morning sun glinted and shimmered upon the gaudy gilt buttons and epaulettes of his dark blue coat. His cap bore upon its visor the arms of the U. S. He was clearly an army officer.
The bright fluttering leaves on the oak and maple brush that clothed the mountain sides in their gaudy, early autumn dress, formed a vivid contrast to the tiny groves of cedar which clung closely to the mountain tops or hung in straggling beauty to the side of some precipitous cliff. The bare, brown earth, dotted with bald white and gray boulders, showed its plain face here and there, and far from the eye, the dull brown shade was gradually melted into a pinkish purple haze, too full of wild barbaric beauty to escape the attention of the young rider who sat his fine horse with a proud military firmness.
The officer was evidently upon the alert for any surprise, for his eye glanced quickly ahead and around; his whole bearing suggested a sharp, suspicious attention to every detail of road and overhanging rock. As he turned a sudden curve in the road, he met a tall, silent horseman, who sat his restless steed, in a manner no less firm and commanding than that manifested by the gayly-clad officer of the great army of the United States.
"Good morning, sir; may I ask whither you are bound?" said the mountaineer.
"Certainly, I am traveling to Salt Lake City. Permit me to pass, if you please."
"Just one moment; do you come on an errand of peace or otherwise? You must know something of the condition of affairs in this Territory, and I assure you I have full right and authority to ask this question."
The officer glanced shrewdly into the face of his opponent, and after a few moments' careful scrutiny, which was apparently satisfactory, he leaned easily over the horn of his saddle, and answered quietly:
"I accept your declaration and as a civil answer to your somewhat unusual question, I am quite willing to tell you that my name is Van Arden, and that I am bound on an errand to Mr. Brigham Young."
"I do not ask the nature of that errand, for I don't suppose you would answer me if I did; but I shall take the liberty of accompanying you from here to the City."
"Very well, Mr – ."
"Stevens," laconically answered the other, slowly wheeling around his horse and trotting along by the other's side.
The remainder of the morning was spent in a somewhat desultory conversation, the officer doing most of the talking, as he was determined to retain a measure of friendly intercourse, no matter whether it was pleasing to his companion or not. Towards noon, they halted beside the mountain stream, and each produced a modicum of luncheon, which was partaken of in semi-silence; a few questions from the officer accompanied the meal, with exceedingly brief, although not uncivil, answers from the mountaineer. As they arose to resume their journey, a small party of horsemen appeared just in front of them, and without a word of greeting or questioning they joined the two, and silently followed closely upon the heels of the strangely associated companions.
Arriving in due time in Salt Lake City, the gallant captain was escorted by his silent guard to excellent quarters in the hotel on Main Street. As he was about to dismount, he turned to his late companion and courteously asked:
"Would you kindly convey, for me, a message to Brigham Young?"
Stevens drew himself up in his saddle, and with his eyes sternly set upon his horse's ears, he said coldly:
"If you have any messages to send to his excellency, Governor Young, I will deliver them."
"Then be so good as to convey my compliments to His Excellency, Governor Young, and inform him that Captain Van Arden is the bearer of important messages for His Excellency which, from their nature, should be delivered at once."
Without a word of reply, Stevens wheeled his horse around, and, after a brief parley with his men, who quietly accepted his orders, he rode hastily up the street. He was admitted at once to the office of the Governor, and gave a brief,